A Mistaken Experiment
by Arisprite
Summary: Holmes makes an error which nearly costs him his house mate's lives, as well his own. Rated T for danger, angst. Not slash. COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This is the original of two versions of this story. I wrote this one first, but after watching the wonderful BBC show, Sherlock, I decided to try to rewrite it in the same modern style as the show is written in. The result is two stories where some parts are exactly the same, and others are completely different, either because of the times or tiny differences in characters. It was marvelously fun to write, and I hope you enjoy it! Both parts are nearly done, so there shouldn't be that long of a wait. Enjoy!

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

Holmes was moving around already downstairs when I woke, though I believed it was because he had been up all night, rather than that he had risen early. Though he was not on a case to my knowledge, so I had no idea why he had forgone sleep. I sighed when I looked at the time, but since I was already awake...

I got ready slowly, for my old injuries were throbbing rhythmically- the snow outside was not doing anything for me- before limping down the stairs.

Holmes was bent over his chemical table, which at least explained why he had not slept, and made no acknowledgment of my entrance. I ignored him in turn; my conversation before breakfast was scanty at the best of times, and made my way over to the table. Mrs. Hudson had left a coffee pot. I lifted the lid, as was disappointed when no steam rose. It was evident that this was the pot that had kept Holmes going through the night, and as such had gone cold a long time ago. I ran my hand over my face in frustration.

"Holmes," I said. He did not move.

"Holmes." I said a little louder. This elicited a grunt. "I'm going to ring for breakfast."

I waited for a response.

"If that is alright with you, of course?"

Still nothing.

"I'm also planning on joining the traveling circus juggling walking sticks. I think I could make quite a career out of it." I looked at him, scribbling away at complicated notes, and formulae. "Holmes!"

"Hmm?" Oh yes, of course Watson." He said distractedly. Then my full statements seemed to sink in, and he turned to me. "_What_?"

"I was asking if you wished me to ring for breakfast." I said, laughing. He waved an impatient hand at me.

"If you must," He said, and turned back to his work.

I chuckled, and called down to Mrs. Hudson, who came up moments later bearing a large tray of scrumptious looking eggs, toast and sausages.

"It looks delicious, Mrs. Hudson." I said, sitting down at the table. She left with a warm smile at me, and an exasperated head shake in the direction of Holmes. I unfolded my napkin, before calling to the man.

"Are you planning on actually eating at any time today?" Holmes responded with an impatient wave.

"I'm far too busy at the moment, Watson. Do go on without me."

I rolled my eyes.

"If you really can ignore such a wonderful smelling meal, then I do feel sorry for you." I picked up my fork. "I plan, however, to thoroughly enjoy my breakfast." I raised a laden fork to my mouth.

No sooner had I done this, the doorbell rang. Holmes looked at my crestfallen face, and laughed.

"Of course, someone would call…" I muttered, rising to see who it was. However only Mrs. Hudson entered the sitting room.

"A letter for Mr. Holmes, gentlemen." She said, and brought it forward. Holmes actually turned from his precious chemicals to peer at her as she brought it in.

"Which Irregular was it who brought the letter, Mrs. Hudson?" he asked, his gaze sweeping her. She wrinkled her brow.

"How did you—oh never mind. It was young Alfie; I gave him a scone for his troubles." She smiled fondly.

"Of course," Holmes said, and snatched the letter from her outstretched hand. He ripped it open and scanned the contents. As he read, his face became thoughtful.

"Hmmm, how very singular…" He murmured. Mrs. Hudson and I exchanged a glance.

"Well? What is in the letter, Holmes?" I finally asked. He looked up at me distractedly, as if he had forgotten that we two were still here.

"Huh? Oh, Watson. It is a simple matter, but one that may perhaps prove interesting." He rose, stuffing the letter into his trouser pocket, stripping off his dressing gown, and heading into his room.

"And I suppose you aren't going to tell me about it?" I called, sitting back down to my cooling breakfast. Mrs. Hudson returned to her kitchen with a shake of her head, just as Holmes reentered pulling on a jacket.

"All in good time." He said briskly, "I shall be back within an hour or two."

I will admit to feeling a slight tug of disappointment.

"You won't need my assistance then?" I asked.

"My dear fellow, if I had your assistance, then the case would be over within the half hour! Now we can't have that, can we?" He finished buttoning his great coat, and threw a scarf around his neck (for good reason, for it was as cold as we had seen in those parts in long years) and turned to me. "Besides, I couldn't pull you away from your writing. I know you've been planning on this morning to scribble out our last case."

"That is true." Not to mention my leg wouldn't let me be an asset to any case at the moment, and Holmes probably knew it as well as I.

He clapped his hands together. "Hah! It's settled then." He leaned forward, and snatched a piece of bacon from my plate. "Do save me some breakfast, there's a good chap?"

And he was gone, leaving the room suddenly silent in his wake. He did seem to have that effect on empty rooms, and I was glad to see him in such high spirits. I smiled, and shook my head, before getting up from the breakfast table. I would spend the morning writing up my notes, just as I had planned. I settled at my desk, and began to write.

(Holmes' POV)

The case that had drawn me out so excitedly that morning proved to be no more than a practice exercise, one that I could have managed in grade school. Why the lady had felt the need to write me was beyond me. I returned with a decidedly lower mood than I had left with.

As I entered 221B Baker Street, I noticed at once an odd silence. I hung up my coat, and hat to dry from their current snow soaked state, and bent to brush the worst of the snow from my boots, with a slight shiver. Whatever had possessed me to brave the icy winter world outside?

This question aside, I realized I had yet to hear of any movement in the flat at all.

"Mrs. Hudson!" I called out, as I began to climb the stairs. I would dearly like some of that breakfast now, for that piece of bacon I stole from Watson was long eaten, and digested. Perhaps some food would also help the headache I felt coming on. "Mrs. Hudson!" I heard no answer, though perhaps she had gone out. She was running low on flour; our thin soup yesterday was testament to that! "Mrs. Hudson?" There was no reply from either upstairs or down, and I felt a thin chill pervade my chest.

I scaled the rest of the stairs, and stood on the landing. The air was cool, as if the fire in the sitting room beyond had gone out. My unease deepened. Watson's coat and hat were still downstairs, so he had not gone out. Besides that, I could not think of any reason why he would want to; this icy weather was not doing him any favors with those wounds of his. Perhaps he had gone to bed, and let the fire go out, and Mrs. Hudson had gone to the market. This fit the facts, and I smirked as I opened the door, pleased with myself.

The smirk turned to a frown, when I immediately saw Watson, bowed over his writing desk. The room looked normal, and there was no sign that I should be concerned…save for the chill. I rubbed my forehead, bemused.

Now why would Watson sit in a cold room when his injuries were already bothering him?

"Watson, it's freezing in here." I said, as I strode into the room. I made for the fireplace, intending on building up the blaze, when several things happened at once.

My nostrils picked up a faint, unpleasant chemical smell, and my eyes swiveled towards my chemistry corner. An instant later, Watson raised his head, and I was startled to see him struggle to focus on me.

"Watson?" I stepped towards him. He gave his head a small shake, and then struggled to rise.

"Hol—"' he startled, before his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Watson!" I made a flying leap over the couch, and caught him about the waist before his head hit the ground. My brow furrowed, I lowered him to the floor, and laid him down with a pillow I seized from the sofa. I was opening his collar when his eyes fluttered.

"Watson, what happened?" I asked.

"Dunno," He slurred, and my concern increased another notch. I noted his dilated eyes, and sluggish movements. Surely not! "Been feelin' odd all day…" He trailed off into unconsciousness. I sat, stunned, my eyes involuntarily glancing towards the top drawer of my desk. He could not have indulged. He would not!

I rose to check the drawer wherein I kept my stash of cocaine, though my heart screamed at me that it could not be so. However, as I did so, the headache I felt creeping up on me since arriving home pushed a particularly large spike of pain just behind my eyes.

I raised my hand to rub at my forehead, before I froze, cogs literally clicking into place. The silence, the headache, Watson's apparent drugged state, the chemical smell…Oh, Lord.

I lunged towards my desk, a feeling of horror surging through me. There! On the burner was the small beaker of clear liquid, the same beaker I had been experimenting with that morning, before being thoroughly distracted by that damn letter. I had left the flame on under an unstable element, and now the noxious fumes had permeated the whole house!

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

A/N: Oh dear, a cliff hanger. Please tell me what you think, and be sure to read the Sherlock version as well!


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: As promised, the next installment, in a reasonable amount of time. Aren't you proud of me? :)

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

I flipped off the fire, and tentatively sniffer the beaker. I could smell just that faint chemical smell, but that meant little. It was obviously saturating the room with severe effects, if the acute headache and slight dizziness I was feeling was anything to go by.

I dashed to the window, flinging open the glass and letting cold clean air flow in. It cleared my head of some of the effects, and I turned back to Watson. I shook his shoulders.

"Watson!" I nearly shouted. The urgency had flooded in as my mind had cleared. I needed to get Watson out! I called his name once more, then I simply gripped his arms, and flipped him over my shoulder.

I staggered a little down the stairs, but held on gamely, and soon had Watson outside. I laid him on the sidewalk, then called out to the few Londoners milling about on the street, though it was still bitterly cold.

"Raise the alarm! We need a Doctor, and called police to evacuate the buildings surrounding this one!" I saw a few of my little Irregulars run foreword. A few formed a crowd around Watson's prone body, and others ran off to get help. I gratefully gripped Wiggins' shoulder, before turning back to the flat, satisfied that my instructions would be followed.

Wrapping my cravat around my mouth and nose, I dove in, and ran towards the kitchen. There I found Mrs. Hudson slumped over a bowl of half shelled winter peas. I lifted her in my arms, and carried her to the front entryway. I was nearly to the door, when a bout of dizziness caused me to slump against the wall. I pushed on, grunting like an animal.

Finally, I lay her on the snowy sidewalk, then near collapsed myself. The world seemed to blur around me, and the next I knew I was looking at Lestrade's frowning face, which was entirely too close to mine.

"What happened here, Holmes?" He asked me. He was gripping me about the shoulders to raise my head from the ground. I blinked, and came awake more fully, pushing him away to sit up on my own. I displaced some holey, dirty fabric that had been placed over my chest, and for the life of me, I could think what it was.

I raised a shaking hand to my face, rubbing the remains of the haze from my eyes, and coughed a little.

There were people all around us, including my neighbors, standing and shivering in the street. It didn't appear that anyone else was as affected as my housemates were. A duo of constables was managing the crowd.

Watson lay next to me, and Mrs. Hudson beside him, both bundled under an assortment of scarves, and that same brown tattered fabric I had on my lap, which I now recognized as the coats of my street urchins. The Irregulars belonging to said articles huddled next to them, and stared at me with wide eyes.

Lestrade's face filled my field of vision again, and I finally comprehended what it was that he was asking me.

"Holmes, what happened?"

"Fumes from my chemicals. Left the burner on." I said hoarsely. "I returned to find them unresponsive."

"_You_ forgot to turn it off?" He asked me incredulously.

I felt was wave of guilt wash over me, and I shuddered. How could I have been so careless?

Lestrade had obviously thought that my shudder was a result of the cold, for he shrugged out of his heavy coat, and tossed it over my shoulders. The two constables, who were drawing close to report, did the same for Watson and Mrs. Hudson.

I turned, and pressed my shivering fingers against Watson's throat, feeling his sluggish pulse. How long had we all been lying here in the snow? Why had we not been taken inside somewhere?

"Has a doctor been called yet?" I asked rather sharply. Lestrade leaned back onto his haunches.

"Five minutes ago. Dr. Anstruther should be here any mo—" He broke off as the figure of the elderly doctor himself cut through the crowd. "Here he is now."

Lestrade stood, and met the man a few feet away to tell him of the situation. I forced myself to cough, trying to get the foul emissions out of my lungs, and then shivered. We all were wet through for lying in the snow. Watson was going to have my head for putting Mrs. Hudson's and his own health at risk like this.

I started to see Doctor Anstruther suddenly appear before my drooping head. I was getting tired of people materializing in front of my face…I must be more hazy than I had thought. He took my pulse, without even a by your leave, and then turned to Lestrade.

"We will just take them all to my practice. It's only a block over, and it won't be too hard to carry them." I felt a flicker of relief. His practice would be quicker to get to than a hospital, and infinitely more healthy. I felt hand grip me under the shoulders while the doctor's voice said, "Let's get Mr. Holmes on a stretcher."

I felt slightly put out at being discussed as if I wasn't sitting right there in front of them. I could understand them perfectly, and I certainly did not need to be carried.

"I will walk on my own, thank you Doctor." I pronounced, though in a decidedly weaker voice than was norm. However, as I belatedly realized that Watson and Mrs. Hudson were already lying on two stretchers, and their bearers were waiting on the word to go, perhaps I was not as lucid as I would have liked.

"Are you sure, Holmes?" Asked Lestrade, glancing at Anstruther skeptically.

"Yes." I said firmly, then held out my arm. "If you please, Lestrade?"

With our combined effort, I got to my feet, though admittedly my help was not all that substantial. Finally, I stood between Lestrade, and Anstruther, swaying slightly. I shivered again under Lestrade's heavy coat.

We started marching down the street, behind the two stretchers. Anstruther's practice was only a minute or two away walking, but already I could feel my legs shaking with lingering weakness from that confounded chemical. Perhaps this was not the best idea.

I hated to think of the effects on the others. I had only been in the rooms for the very most ten or fifteen minutes, while Mrs. Hudson and especially Watson had been exposed for hours. What damage had I done in that one moment of negligence? If it were permanent…

The dread of that thought bore down on my heart, and I felt myself stumble, for in truth I could scarcely feel the legs upon which I was walking. One of the two men righted me, and we continued walking.

My only hope was that the chemical had taken some time in building enough potency to affect a person, and that I had come when it was at its strongest. That would explain why it had affected me so quickly, while they had not noticed the symptoms sneaking upon them until it was too late to move.

This reasoning, however much hope it brought to me, did not change the fact that it was entirely my fault that the two most tolerant living companions in London were lying insensible.

We arrived at the doctor's front steps not a moment too soon, for my head spun as he unlocked the door, and Lestrade had to dive to catch me as I fell. He staggered under my taller form, while I tried to stop the world from spinning and from my stomach from turning inside out (not that there was much for it to empty itself of).

When my vision righted, I was seated in a chair in Anstruther's entry hall, my head being pressed between my knees. I slowly straightened up, and Lestrade leaned back, relief and concern missing upon his face.

"I'm quite alright," I murmured, in response to his inquiry, and rubbed my forehead against the still pounding headache. "Where is Watson?"

Lestrade rose, and helped me to my feet. He gestured to a hallway.

"He's just through here and Mrs. Hudson too." I gave him a grateful look, and we entered the small bedroom wherein lay the results of what could possibly be my greatest mistake yet.

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

A/N: Thanks for reading, and for the all the lovely reviews, and alerts! They have really made my week :) Be sure to check out my Sherlock version of this, for it's also been updated. Please tell me what you think of this next bit as well!


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Finally the rest of this beastie! Really, this forever to finish, and then I had an incident with my comp deleting the work I'd done...yeah, it's been an adventure. Anyway, hope you enjoy! Sherlock(BBC) version is updated as well!

Also, I forgot in the first chapter, but Alfie (the Irregular who brought the letter to Mrs. Hudson) belongs to KCS, and she's very nicely let me borrow him for my work :)

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

The blurred ceiling was profoundly unfamiliar to me. This view, as the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes served to confuse my thoroughly. I could not recall what had happened, or even what I had been doing when I had been…what? Attacked?

I made an inventory of how I felt, my eyes fluttering closed again. Ah, yes that will be the first thing on my list: I was tired. Hence, I was in bed. A bed. Not _my _bed. I also had an extreme headache, which seemed to leave a haze over my thought processes. Perhaps I had been drugged? I could feel no other injuries, save an unrelenting stiffness from my old injuries. Maybe it would be prudent for me to investigate my surroundings.

I dragged my eyes open again, and again the unknown ceiling struck me. Where was I? I glanced to the right, and saw a mussed, but empty bed. A glance to my left caused a weak smile to grace my face.

Sherlock Holmes was curled up in an armchair like a cat, his head resting against the arm, covered in a thin blanket. He looked dreadful, deep shadows under his eyes, and he was awfully pale. He also appeared troubled. I wondered again what had happened. We hadn't been on a case…had we? This lack of memory was unsettling to say the least.

I furrowed my brow, and stretched a little, feeling out how well my limbs were working. They all felt unimpaired, save a lingering sluggishness. My movement caused Holmes to stir, before coming awake fully.

"Watson!" he exclaimed, as he leaned forwards. My concern flared as he apparently overbalanced, and had to catch himself on the edge of my bed. "You are awake."

"Brilliant deduction." I murmured, "What happened? What is the matter?"

Holmes did not answer for a long moment, breathing deeply through his nose.

"What do you remember?"

My brow furrowed. "Well, not much."

"Try"

"I was…writing, I believe. Just writing." I lifted a shaking hand to rub at my forehead. "That is all I have."

Holmes breathed in shakily, and lowered his head into trembling hands.

"Holmes? Holmes! What has happened?" I sat up in alarm...or, I tried to. Once I had gotten mostly upright I felt a surge of dizziness, and I nearly fell, save for Holmes lunged upwards to catch me.

"Steady old chap!" He said, and sounded almost normal. I felt myself calm as he lowered me back against the pillows. "Just lie still."

I frowned up at him, for he still looked dreadfully pale and sick, not to mention extremely troubled.

"I will tell you what happened, and you may decide your actions after my report. If you decide as I suspect, then just allow me to say that I have never had more pleasure than in knowing you." His voice was cool, and unemotional, and scared me extremely.

"Holmes—" He held up a hand.

"I returned from that lady's immensely boring case to find both you and Mrs. Hudson unresponsive. I myself began to experience a headache, haziness of thought and dizziness. I entered the sitting room to find my chemical burner lit under a beaker of a volatile and obviously dangerous mix of chemicals. I got both of you out, and sent for the police before collapsing myself. We are now in Anstruther's rooms. Mrs. Hudson woke a few hours ago, and is in the other room."

The clinical tone of his story chilled me, but not as much as the implications of his previous statements.

"Holmes, I'm sure it was an acci—"

"_Don't _say it was an accident!" He snapped, and I now saw his rolling emotions that had been hidden just under the surface. "Don't you understand? I nearly killed the both of you with my stupid mistake!"

I regretted that we both had been unconscious, for that meant there was no one to stop Holmes from ruminating this all in his head, over and over. His guilt would have spin round in an endless cycle till he was half mad. I wished I had been there to distract him.

"Holmes, listen to me. We are safe, there was no harm done."

"You do not know that, Doctor." He said softly. "You couldn't remember what happened before."

"I was writing when I was overcome, I presume? Of course that would be all I remember."

He wasn't convinced; he looked wretched. I sighed, and rubbed my head again. There was a lingering headache, and from the pain lines around Holmes' eyes, I did not doubt he suffered from one as well.

"How is Mrs. Hudson?" I finally asked, and he blinked at me, before responding.

"Well. She has a headache, we all do, I'm sure. But she's been up and about."

"Well then, it sounds like it's high time for me to be up as well." I leaned forwards –slowly this time—and sat up. Holmes immediately put his arm around my shoulders to support me. I managed to get into a standing position, and with Holmes help, I was able to walk into the next room.

It was a waiting/sitting room for Doctor Anstruther's practice, and there was a veritable crowd of people. The elderly Doctor himself sat on a rickety desk chair, and looked askance at seeing me up. Lestrade was sitting in another chair next to Mrs. Hudson. The good woman looked pale, but much like her self over a cup of hot tea.

Holmes led me to an unoccupied chair, and sat me down. He sat heavily next to me, and I realized I was not the only one experiencing dizzy spells. Doctor Anstruther came over to check on us both. He took my pulse, while fixing a glare on my friend.

"Well, I do hope that you won't make this a habit, Mr. Holmes." He admonished. Holmes said nothing, merely lowered his head, and I frowned.

"Now, Anstruther, it was an accident." I said, and he fixed me with a baleful stare.

"When my colleague and neighbors are dragged into my consulting room, -or stagger in under their violation-" he looked at Holmes, "I feel I have a right to make sure it doesn't happen again." He dropped my wrist, and I folded my arms. This was the last thing Holmes needed, and indeed he looked the very picture of a guilty schoolboy.

"There's still no call to—" Holmes cut me off, laying a trembling hand on my arm.

"Nothing of this sort will ever happen again, Anstruther, you have my solemn promise."

Anstruther looked consoled, as he sat back and snapped his medical bag shut. I, however, felt a strange uneasiness to hear those words.

At that moment, Lestrade spoke up.

"Ahem, Mr. Holmes? Doctor Watson? I've just been down to Baker Street, and it is in the process of being aired out. Your neighbors on either side were none the worse for the wear, save for a couple of nasty headaches. Nothing near as bad as you two and Missus Hudson got, I tell you." He set down his teacup, indeed he rather looked to be glad to be rid of it. It probably was not his first, nor even his second. I had heard that Anstruther's housekeeper was rather fond of a cup of tea, and believed it cured all ills, even that of being a police inspector.

The Inspector stood then, and gathered his hat and coat.

"I'll be taking my leave now, if you're both alright now?" He looked slightly uncomfortable what with Anstruther and myself at odds, and Holmes staring at the floor. I smiled at Lestrade, and nodded.

"Of course, Inspector." He nodded back at me, and left.

The room fell silent for a moment, and I stared into my teacup. I felt a growing anxiety about Holmes. His words seemed to have a double meaning since I woke, and I felt that nothing was good about this hidden but present something weighing on my friend. Was this just guilt? A little guilt could be good for a person, but I could see nothing wholesome in the result of Holmes' thoughts.

SH SH SH

We all were released to go back to Baker Street by the next day, I was glad to be back in familiar surroundings. Maybe here I could finally get through to Holmes.

I had spent our remaining time at Anstruther's clinic trying to draw the detective into a private talk, for he obviously was still troubled…no, troubled was even to light a word. He was haunted by this latest incident. I could see it in his still deathly pale skin, shadowed eyes, and his refusal to even look at me, let alone talk to me like he so dearly needed to. I had some things I wanted to pound into his thick head, namely his lack of guilt, and that I wasn't going anywhere, like he seemed to think I would.

Holmes, however, turned avoiding me into an art form.

The first thing we did upon returning home was warm up the place. The house had been aired out, we'd been told, and the winter air blowing through open windows made it feel as though there should be ice in our washbowls instead of water. If fact there probably was.

Holmes and I helped Mrs. Hudson make up the fire downstairs, and then left her making tea (her tried and true remedy for any upset) and headed upstairs.

The sitting room was even colder than downstairs had been; being it was place where the incident had occurred. We quickly made up the fire there as well, and huddled down in out arm chairs, wrapped in blankets and our dressing gowns against the chill.

We sat there for some time.

Holmes had yet to say anything since we returned and I was feeling drowsy by this time –the fire was warming the room, and I was cozy in my wraps. My eyes were growing heavy, and I jumped slightly when Holmes spoke.

"Watson?" He spoke almost desperately, and was looking at me with wide eyes.

"Yes, Holmes?" I spoke calmly, not wanting to spook him. He met my eyes, then closed then, bowing his head into his hands. He rubbed his face, and up into his hair, causing it to stick out in unruly tufts. He was agitated; I could see that by looking at him.

He hadn't answered back, so I scooted forwards in the chair, and laid a hand upon his arm.

He shuddered then.

"I can still see it." He whispered. "It repeats over and over again."

Holmes was almost muttering to himself, gripping his hands together to stop the slight tremors.

I leaned closer.

"What does Holmes?" I asked softly.

He cleared his throat, leaned back, and seemed to shake himself. I knew if I let him have his way, he'd leave the topic buried forever. So I pressed him.

"What do you see?" I asked insistently.

He turned back to the fire, apparently not able to meet my eyes.

"You are dead before I can get to you. Mrs. Hudson is as well. I try and try to pull you both out, and I can't…can't ever manage it…" He stared determinedly into the flames, but I didn't miss the cracked voice, and overly bright eyes.

I sat for a moment, pondering what to say. For I knew I had to say something while he was so open.

He was calmed by now, and I leaned forwards again. I touched his knee to get his attention, and he turned to unwillingly meet my eyes.

"Holmes, this was not. Your. Fault." I enunciated each word, so there could be no doubt. "I've told you before, this was an unfortunate accident. You didn't mean for this to happen, and I've no doubt it will never happen again."

I was rewarded a moment later when the conviction in my voice softened his guilt-ridden eyes. I didn't think he'd quite forgiven himself, but I hoped I'd convinced him that _I_ had forgiven him, and just maybe, that might be enough for now.

~Fin~

SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH SH

A/N: And completed! Hope you enjoyed yourself as much as I did writing this :) It was sure fun, and I'd challenge you all (if you feel so inclined) to write two versions, modern and canon of the same story. It's hard, but fun!

Good luck, and cheerio until next time!

Ari


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